Though the task force had thoroughly investigated the murders, they’d never had a suspect. DNA was collected, but it didn’t match any known individual in CODIS. Mexico and other countries had their own CODIS systems, but their data was less complete than in the United States and Europe. Still, it was worth sending the DNA samples Simone collected to all countries in the western hemisphere that had the capability to run them against their files. The chances Ann’s rapist and the Southern Mexico killer were one and the same were slim, but because human trafficking was involved the odds increased slightly.
Sonia’s rage bubbled as she pictured the brute who had caused such pain and trauma to an innocent girl. She had to find the bastard and stop him. But even then, Ann’s safety was at risk. If she had been a captive, they wouldn’t let her live to tell her story or finger any of them. Sonia had to know what she was dealing with.
“Ann” was in a deep, drug-induced sleep, on breathing equipment and an IV. Her neck was bruised, in a partial brace, and Sonia didn’t dare feel around for the chip and risk further injury. She’d have to wait for the X-ray.
Traffickers inserted GPS chips when they planned to keep the victims alive and working, either in hard labor or prostitution. The implants, even when they didn’t function properly, kept them in line, because everyone believed they would be found even if they escaped. Some victims had cut out the microchips, but it wasn’t easy or safe. The back of the neck was a quick and easy incision with the least chance of infection, but the device was almost impossible to remove without assistance.
Sonia felt the nurse watching her closely, but she had no choice. She reached out quickly and pushed up the sleeve of Ann’s gown to see the tattoo.
The four stars were so familiar Sonia almost felt that she knew the girl. Of course she didn’t, not personally, only girls like her. She could have ended up like Ann. She also could have ended up dead. That she’d been one of the few to escape before suffering such physical and emotional trauma brought on mixed emotions. Relief and joy, guilt and sorrow. Knowing there were others not as lucky as she’d been. Others like Ann. Like Izzy …
The nurse grabbed her arm. “Detective, you need to leave right now. You think you can come in here and manhandle my patient?” she said in a loud whisper. “Do you know what this girl has been through?”
“I know a hell of a lot more about what she’s been through than you.”
Sonia jerked her arm away from the nurse and gently dropped the gown back in place. She didn’t know what the numbers meant-she had never seen anything similar. They didn’t look right, as if a different ink had been used. But there was no way the nurse would give her the time she needed to concentrate on the oddity.
The door opened and a security guard stepped in.
“Escort this woman from the hospital,” the nurse demanded.
“I’m leaving,” Sonia said.
“I’ll take you out, ma’am,” the guard said.
“I’ll wait for the doctor.” She stepped through the door. Dr. Miller came running and frowned.
“Agent Knight, I told you not to speak to the patient.”
“I didn’t talk to her. I needed to see something.”
“If you want my help, I suggest you follow my rules.” He dismissed the security guard. “The portable X-ray is on its way. Wait here. Or I will have you removed from the hospital.” He stepped into the room to calm the fuming nurse.
Simone grinned. “You have balls.”
“So they tell me. Can you rush the DNA tests? Or send some evidence to the DHS lab? It’s a long shot, but because we’re dealing with likely human trafficking, our suspect could be a foreigner. DHS works closely with the FBI and law enforcement abroad.”
“Consider it done.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky with an I.D.” As she spoke, she emailed her boss the information she had.
“I just hope he’s from a country with an extradition treaty,” Simone said. “What about the tattoo?”
“The stars are related to her destination. These girls don’t mean anything to them-they’re property. The marks tell them how to sort their ‘property’ to make it easier to inventory and distribute.”
“How can you talk about human slavery so matter-of-factly?” Simone asked, incredulous.
Sonia bristled, then bit back her temper. The criminalist was asking a valid question. Still, she responded with a question. “How can you collect evidence off a rape victim?”
Simone shook her head. “It’s not the same thing.”
“We all deal with our jobs the best we can. I have to be objective or I can’t do my job.”
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
Sonia pressed her palm to her forehead and said, “I overreacted.”
Sonia had been accused of being both overly passionate and overly clinical, which used to amuse her until she realized most people didn’t want to see either extreme. They didn’t want to discuss serious crime clearly and rationally to solve the problem, nor did they want to hear about their own culpability in ignoring the problems in the first place. If it didn’t touch their lives, they feigned ignorance. They didn’t want to know if the clothes on their back had been sewn by a slave or if the shoes on their feet had been glued by an eight-year-old.
“I’m going to check on the X-ray,” Simone said and went to find a nurse.
Sonia’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the number. It showed a 916 area code and nothing else. Federal. “Hello?” Oh, shit. She was way late to her meeting with the FBI.
“Sonia Knight, please.”
“Hooper, right? I’m sorry.”
“You did remember our meeting then.”
“Yes, I’m really sorry. It couldn’t be avoided.”
“I spoke with Toni Warner. She said the FBI is welcome to work with you and your partner, Agent Anderson. I don’t know if that’s in our best interest.”
She paused a beat, her nerves prickling with restrained anger. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t have time to play territorial games or wonder if you’re going to hold back crucial information.” Dean’s high-and-mighty arrogance-his superior tone-irritated Sonia and she bristled.
“I don’t play games,” she snapped. “I resent the accusation.”
“How can I be sure? I thought we agreed to share information. Yet you don’t even have the courtesy to tell me you’re running late. My time is as valuable as yours.”
“Look, Hooper, I’m happy to work with you on this, okay? But right now I have a delicate situation and I can’t stroke your ego.” Sonia winced. Sometimes her mouth worked faster than her brain. She softened her voice and added, “If you can give me an hour, I’ll be there. I promise.”
There was a long pause. “I think I owe you an apology,” Hooper said, startling Sonia into silence. “I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. I don’t have an ego, Sonia.”
She must have touched a sore point with Hooper. “Okay, no ego. Neither do I.” She suddenly laughed, and it felt surprisingly good.
“Did you just laugh?” He sounded surprised.
“I might have.” She took a deep breath and said with a smile, “I think we should both admit that we have small, manageable, unobtrusive egos.”
Dean couldn’t stifle his own chuckle. “I think I can agree with that.”
Diplomacy was never something Sonia cared much about, but right now, working with the FBI on the Jones case was critical. There was too much at stake. And Sonia would do anything-perhaps even make a deal with the devil himself-to find Maya Zamora alive and reunite her with Andres.
“Let’s regroup this afternoon.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s two, as soon as I get a guard on my victim, I’ll leave-”
“Victim? What happened?”
“This isn’t connected to Jones.” At least she didn’t think it was. Jones was a middleman; he wasn’t suspected of killing any of the people he traded in. Still, the FBI could help. “However, I was hoping to get s
ome assistance.” She quickly explained to Dean what happened to “Ann” and her likelihood of being forced into prostitution. “The tattoos are a dead giveaway that she’s a victim of human trafficking. We have DNA from her rapist, and it’s clear that he intended to kill her when he threw her in the river. How she survived the ordeal is a miracle. Simone Charles from forensics is sending DNA samples to the DHS lab for processing and comparisons with foreign CODIS databases. I was hoping you could clear the way of bureaucratic obstacles and help process the evidence on your end.”
“I can help. Sometimes being an assistant director has huge advantages. I’ll email Ms. Charles my secretary’s contact information and put in a few calls.”
“Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate your help.” Sonia gave him the details, then hung up.
Simone approached when she saw that Sonia was off the phone. “I spoke to Detective Black. He’s getting a twenty-four-hour guard approved right now. We’ll have someone within an hour.”
“The FBI is pulling out the stops on DNA. Dean Hooper is going to email you with instructions.” She wrote down Dean’s contact information for Simone.
Dr. Miller returned with a nurse and a table of equipment, including an X-ray machine. Sonia was relieved that the doctor was taking Ann’s condition seriously. “I’ll personally see to it that if there is a damn computer chip in my patient’s neck no one can track her down.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Do you know when you’ll take her into surgery?”
“She’s stable right now and she’ll be taken down for a CAT scan shortly. I’ll know more after that.”
“Please wait until the guard shows,” Sonia said. “Or I can go with her.” Sonia needed to get back to the Jones investigation, but she couldn’t leave Ann vulnerable. She was torn between the two cases.
“It’ll be at least thirty minutes.”
“When you remove the GPS chip, I want it. We might be able to trace it.” A long shot, but Sonia was willing to go down any path to find everyone responsible for Ann’s condition. It wasn’t only the rapist who was culpable. Who tattooed her? Who put the numbers on her? Who brought her to this country in the first place-or kidnapped her? How long had she been forced to prostitute herself? Where? Were there more like her in Sacramento? Sonia knew the answer was yes, but she didn’t know where to start other than getting Xavier Jones to talk.
Sonia stared at Ann’s door, willing the girl to recover. She was another key; like Andres a victim, but she’d also been part of the organization. She could testify, she could lead Sonia to where she’d been imprisoned. Describe her attacker. Ann was a key witness, another reason they needed to protect her.
Most victims of human trafficking were dead when Sonia found them. Or they’d been rescued before they learned anything about the illegal underground. Ann was rare and her survival paramount.
Riley, Sonia’s brother, stepped out of the nearby elevator. He was dressed in uniform and Sonia asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I heard through the grapevine that you were involved and needed police protection for a rape victim.” He tilted his head toward the criminalist. “Hi, Simone.”
“Riley.”
“Thanks, Riley.” Sonia filled him in on the case as quickly as possible. “I’m glad you’re here. I feel much better leaving Ann in your hands.”
“Ann? You know who she is?”
“No, but I don’t want her identified as a Jane Doe. Be careful, Riley. These people are ruthless.”
“Right back at you, sis.”
Sonia left the hospital, relieved that Ann was in good hands and that the doctor was serious about protecting both her identity and her life. She called Toni Warner as soon as she got into her car. “Anything about Charlie?” She asked without preamble.
“I’ve talked to everyone who would know about an undercover operation concerning Jones,” she said, “and no one is claiming involvement.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t something going on,” Sonia said. While the various branches of federal law enforcement had been working together better since 9/11 unified their key mission statements and goals, there were still clandestine operations throughout the country and the world. Sonia knew; she’d been part of several post-2001. But because of her position and reputation Toni had the right contacts. She’d get a hint of an operation if one existed. It would just take time, and every passing day made it harder to find Maya.
“Tread carefully, Sonia. Cammarata is a loose cannon and dangerous.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.” Again.
“Not intentionally, but he’s always felt his causes were just, his actions necessary. He’s always believed the ends justify the means, Sonia. And frankly, I don’t care how noble his goal is, Cammarata cannot break law after law. It’s why he was fired, it’s why he’s been blacklisted, and it’s why you, and others, were nearly killed. Don’t trust him because you think he feels remorse over what he did ten years ago. Trust me: I know Charlie Cammarata, and any guilt he feels is far outweighed by his personal mission to save the underdog at the expense of those he thinks should take care of themselves.”
“I’ll confront him and get him to talk, haul him into custody if I have to,” Sonia told her boss.
“Bring backup, Sonia. You can’t trust him.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dean had been so busy working on coordinating DNA testing of Sonia’s rape victim that he didn’t notice it was well after three in the afternoon. He’d talked to Quantico and they would expedite the tests, with results sometime next week. With their current workload, that was the best Dean could hope for. He also contacted local authorities and arranged for some of the evidence to be shipped overnight to Virginia. And when put on hold during numerous calls, he had time to update his charts on Xavier Jones’s businesses.
He was concentrating on an updated printout of his spreadsheet when Sam Callahan escorted Sonia into the small conference room Dean had taken over when he arrived three weeks ago.
“How’s the victim?” Dean asked Sonia after Sam excused himself to finish up paperwork from the warrant last night.
Sonia shook her head. “She’s in bad shape, but alive. She has a chance. Maybe not a good chance, but so far she’s holding her own. I may have to run if the hospital calls. I want to be there when they take the GPS chip out of her neck.”
“Excuse me? GPS chip?”
“Human trafficking has heralded in the twenty-first century with even more innovative ways to keep their victims captive.” She glanced around the conference room, her hazel eyes taking in Dean’s charts, diagrams, and extensive printouts. “This is all Jones?”
“Taxes, corporate filings, Fair Political Practices reports, SEC filings, any public information.”
She flipped through one of Jones’s tax returns, her brow furrowed. “Math isn’t my strength.”
“We all have our talents. Sit down.” He pulled out a chair and she sat heavily. Dean doubted she’d slept since the stakeout. “Where do you want to start?”
“I want to know how you started looking at Jones and why you didn’t notify anyone.”
Dean bristled, but then realized Sonia hadn’t intended to be insulting. “Fair enough. Do you remember a criminal named Thomas Daniels, aka Smitty?”
She arched her narrow brows. “Of course I remember him. The FBI went after him on money laundering and racketeering. He was killed trying to avoid arrest.”
“I’m the one who shot him,” Dean said. His cool tone belied his mixed emotions in being forced to fire on a suspect.
Her expression softened in understanding. “I’m sorry.”
Dean had looked at Sonia’s record, knew she’d used lethal force in the past as well. It wasn’t something to take lightly, and unfortunately the movies often portrayed law enforcement as trigger-happy, gun-wielding vigilantes, when in reality it came down to reluctant but necessary use of force.
“When we went through his records, we put togeth
er his money-laundering scheme. Quite brilliant in its simplicity. Understanding the process helped us close other investigations where we didn’t have the evidence because we hadn’t yet caught up to the new systems criminals employed. We’ve been ahead of the curve for a while now-taking down nearly everyone we’ve targeted these past four years. Except Jones. He’s been eluding me for too long.”
“Did Smitty give Jones up?”
“No, he never talked to us. Everything we learned came from his records, which were disorganized. It took over a year of painstakingly analyzing his cryptic notes to discover that Smitty had a business association with Jones. I never figured out it was human trafficking-” He shrugged in frustration. “But we were close. I’d thought prostitution.”
She nodded. “Smitty was a competitor. He specialized in runaways. Jones works with coyotes-human smugglers-south of the border, all the way to South America. But while Jones can bring in more merchandise, his expenses are higher than Smitty’s. He makes his money on volume, while Smitty lured young runaways off the street and then relocated them all over the continent where they couldn’t easily get out if they wanted to. Many of the girls he manipulated had been sexually and physically abused as children and felt they deserved what ever happened to them. Smitty was really good at spotting the damaged teens.”
“You worked on his case, too?” Dean asked, surprised she knew so many details but he hadn’t worked with her on the case.
She shook her head. “He was dead before I transferred to Sacramento, but I knew him as one of the players. Unfortunately, he was out of my squad’s charter. My job has always been international trafficking, and after nine-eleven it’s included a focus on potential terrorist trafficking, specifically disbanding hidden cells throughout the country.”
“But your heart isn’t in it.”
“My heart is with the victims. I’ve done my fair share to prevent terrorism, but it’s hard to focus on that when hundreds of thousands of innocent young people are lured or kidnapped into prostitution or labor camps.”
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